Chapter 6 - THE LOOPHOLE
The trust amendment was signed nine months before Beatrice died.
If Matilda became medically incapable of benefiting from or occupying the La Jolla property, I could petition the court, as trustee, to sell if doing so genuinely served her interests.
The proceeds would remain Matilda’s.
Pamela could never simply take them.
“So she can’t control the trust,” I said.
“No.”
“Then why manufacture psychiatric problems?”
Henrietta looked at me.
“Maybe she doesn’t understand the trust.”
Or maybe someone did.
Someone named Spencer.
If they created enough medical documentation suggesting Matilda needed long-term residential treatment, they could pressure me to petition for a sale.
Even then, a court would have to approve it.
Even then, the money stayed in trust.
But perhaps the money wasn’t the target.
The property was.
Seven-million-dollar coastal land.
“What about long-term leases?” I asked.
“Possible with proper approval.”
“Development rights?”
“Potentially.”
I called Lincoln.
“Find Spencer. Real estate.”
“Already working.”
“Check San Diego.”
“Why?”
I explained.
Forty minutes later he called.
“Spencer Ward.”
“Who is he?”
“Real-estate attorney. San Diego. Coastal redevelopment.”
My stomach dropped.
“Connection to Pamela?”
“College. Possibly dated years ago.”
“Current contact?”
“A lot.”
“Anything about the house?”
“Yes.”
He sounded different.
“Greg, Pamela emailed him photographs four months ago asking what a developer would pay.”
“How much?”
“Spencer’s affiliated group discussed acquiring it for about $5.2 million.”
The property was worth significantly more.
“They wanted me to sell below market?”
“Looks that way.”
“But proceeds still belong to Matilda.”
“Yes.”
“So where does Pamela profit?”
“Spencer promised her an undisclosed equity interest in the redevelopment entity.”
There it was.
The plan wasn’t to steal Matilda’s trust account directly.
It was to manufacture enough fear and medical concern that I would support a sale.
Then Spencer’s group would acquire the property below value through layered entities.
Pamela would share in the upside.
Potentially more than a million dollars.
Lincoln continued.
“And there are videos.”
“How many?”
“Thirty-two.”
I stopped breathing.
“Several were recorded shortly after the kitchen footage shows Pamela preparing Matilda’s drinks.”
Then he read me one email from Spencer:
Two more documented incidents should be sufficient for Gregory to accept residential evaluation.
Exactly what Matilda had heard.
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A six-year-old had remembered the conspiracy almost word for word.
And I had been sixteen minutes away from leaving her alone inside it.
